


Skipping Potions

by smirc



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Harry Potter AU, Ilvermorny AU, Lore - Freeform, Magic AU, No Aliens, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirc/pseuds/smirc
Summary: “Ilvermorny was a sight to behold from the outside on the grounds, but she was never more beautiful than she was inside, where it was always warm and even the candelabras would tremble with excitement at the new year.“//Kara arrived at Ilvermorny three years older than every other first year, without a transcript or school uniform, and bearing a false name. According to Clark, there had been students who came with less and started out lower. Kara didn’t believe him.





	1. The Sorting

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting, which is wild (don’t be gentle lmao).

Kara arrived at Ilvermorny three years older than every other first year that clambered behind her, all taking unspoken solace in her towering but unimposing form. She was a bit like a sapling in the wind, gracile and accidentally charming with her nervous smiles and subconscious twitching. She wasn’t dressed like the rest of them, lacking their teal robes and cranberry sashes. Instead she strode up the weathered stone path, trodded up weathered grey stone stairs, in the clothes of your average muggle. A tattered aegean blue longcoat, bullied by the breeze, flapped about her long legs encased in lax cranberry pants with enormous front pockets. No-maj or not, to any eye she looked… a bit homeless.

Not that she damn well cared, but she was still self-aware.

And, in truth, she _was_ homeless. At least, she thought so.

Just as Kara and the cluster of excited and terrified (and cold) first years reached the monolithic marble statues of Isolt Sayre and James Steward, there was a sudden _crack!_ and a figure in black robes stood by the broad wooden double-doors.

“I didn’t realize one of your pastimes was scaring little children, Clark.”

The man removed his frayed cap and held it to his chest, freeing his mop of unruly black curls. He had the decency to look a bit ashamed, but not much. A toothy white smile came to form as he spoke to the first years, who had shifted to stand closer to Isolt’s statue to Kara’s left, away from him. “Sorry guys.”

Before Kara could get another word in, the double-doors opened of their own accord.

Breathing deep, Kara nodded more to herself than to anyone else. “Come on.”

The man, Clark, fell into step with Kara as she moved forward, his blue eyes twinkling with warmth at the little hand he spotted slipping into Kara’s from his vantage point. It was a big step--a leap, even.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything, you know.” He murmured under his breath, confident his charge would hear him. “I’ll never up and leave; promise.”

“No one can promise anything, Master Kent; especially that.”

“Does it mean anything that I want to keep it?”

If Kara had a reply, she didn’t share it, though Clark attributed her silence and stiff posture to the sudden change of environment.

Ilvermorny was a sight to behold from the outside on the grounds, but she was never more beautiful than she was inside, where it was always warm and even the candelabras would tremble with excitement at the new year.

The first years, most tripping on their robes and clutching at each other like they were drowning, followed Kara and Clark into a massive circular room. Capped by a gilded glass cupola, the room was currently lit by only the natural light of the early morning. Sunlight caught the golden Gordian Knot set in the center of the marble floor, but no amount of precious metal would take Kara’s attention away from the four wooden statues that lorded over the room.

Students in older years, already sorted, watched with curious eyes from a balcony that circled the room, thirty feet above the floor. From such a sizeable distance, no human could hear their words without unnatural, or magical, aid.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who you asked) Kara wasn’t human.

“ _She’s fuckin’ tall for a first year.”_

_“Pretty too.”_

There was a pair of slaps issued by small hands that startled Kara, and she dropped the small hand of the equally small first year that had been holding onto her for support. Don’t want to break him. Can’t touch or I’ll break. Hands to myself. Too dangerous. Her breathing sped up.

“ _Idiots, she’s not eleven.”_

_“Thank Morrigan for that.”_

_“And why would you care if she’s not eleven, James?”_

_“Lu--”_

A hand on Kara’s shoulder, calloused but gentle, redirected her attention. “You alright?” Clark whispered.

A bodiless voice called out for a student. “Sheffield, Ethan!”

The little boy who had clung to Kara’s sensationless hand stepped forward with no small amount of trepidation. He moved faster when he looked back, and received twin smiles from Kara and Clark. He didn’t know their names, or anything about them, but that didn’t really matter.

Ethan Sheffield stood at the center of the large Gordian Knot, and Kara, too distracted by all the noise coming from above and from her own head, didn’t pay any mind to his sorting.

“Nervous.”

Students above cheered, and Ethan moved forward to the doorway leading to a long hall. He took the hand of a smiling adult, her robes green, and she lead him into an adjacent room and out of Kara’s line of sight.

“Abbott, Harold!”

“A lot?”

“Just a bit.” Her stomach was tight, and she was nearly vibrating with energy. Her fingers struck her thighs in a constant pattern; thump thump thump thump thu--

Enough time had passed to where Kara was the only student left unsorted. When she looked to her right for Clark, she found him standing with his back to the wall, the shadow of the balcony blanketing him. Even through the gloom, Kara could see his toothy smile of encouragement.

“Joseph, Kara.” There was no grand exclamation. If anything, her first name ended with a whispered ‘-a’ brought by some unnamed emotion.

The surname had Kara wincing, but she didn’t bother to voice her complaint--something she had always made a point to do up until that point--and stepped up to take her place before the four wooden statues.

 _The witty Serpent-- **Horned** \--; the noble dramonicus-- **panther** Wampus; the mighty Thunderbird; the passionate Pukwudgie. _ She had read about the four Houses long before she had set foot in America, and multiple times again before arriving in Massachusetts. Her hope was to be rejected from Horned Serpent and from Wampus. She wasn’t fond of the sciences or overtly in-depth courses on magical theory--not anymore--and she wasn’t body focused; she didn’t want to fight.

Not anymore.

Thunderbird seemed fine--Clark was a Thunderbird, and he claimed to love it, and that it was easily the best House (though they were both aware of his bias)--but if stereotypes and common beliefs were trustworthy, Kara didn’t feel like she’d have a place amongst adventurers and soul-based individuals. ‘ _Do I even have a soul? What’s a soul to me, anyways?’_

The statues were taking quite a bit of time. Kara wondered if they were deliberating; discussing her placement.

Discussing how they wouldn’t take her, and why.

‘ _She’s no scholar.’_

_‘There’s a difference between a duelist and a demon, and she’s leapt across that line.’_

_‘I can’t sense a soul. Why is she alive?’_

The gem imbedded in the forehead of the Horned Serpent shone brightly; the Wampus statue roared, coming to life for a brief moment; the Thunderbird flapped its suddenly malleable wings; the Pukwudgie raised the arrow clutched in its hand high into the air, shaking its fist with vigor.

Silence reigned supreme as the balcony noise tapered off, shock rendering all the students mute. None of them had ever seen such a sight. Every House had welcomed Kara.

A final imagined voice danced between Kara’s ears, this time positive with her own wishful thinking.

‘ _I think she needs help.’_

Kara cleared her throat. “Master Pukwudgie, if you would.”

Again, the Pukwudgie shook its arrow in the air, and Kara bowed low in kind. Face hidden by her hair, she smiled with teeth, so giddy and anxious that she began to tremble. 

 

 


	2. The Wand Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As opposed to having exclusive titles like prefect or head boy and head girl, Ilvermorny professors would assign students of merit unique jobs and duties that would publicly acknowledge them as responsible and successful sources of pride for their Houses. Among these jobs was wandseeking, where elder students in their sixth or seventh years helped first years find their wands. They stood as representatives of their Houses, but they helped any student from any House, bringing them into private adjacent rooms where the likelihood of harm to anyone was minimalized.
> 
> Among the students with this privilege was Alexandra Danvers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter with some worldbuilding. I took some things like Rappaport’s Law from Pottermore, which is an absolute goldmine. 
> 
> I’m mainly just having fun with this—I don’t really have a general direction for anything. Not even sure if I like this chapter. 
> 
> If there’s anything anyone would like to see/any questions, just holler at me.

Rappaport’s Law had been abolished in 1965. It banned all contact with No-Majs unless strictly necessary, putting all Yes-Majs at risk for incarceration by merely accepting their invitation to Ilvermorny or any of the small, private-owned institutions that once littered the country. Forty years had passed yet still the law had left a lasting impact. Wizarding kind of course still avoided revealing itself to No-Majs on a general basis, but the other effects that remained within the wizarding community had yet to abate. While Ilvermorny students were permitted to take their wands home during the summer, no incoming first year would enter the school’s halls with a wand in-hand—buying one in Exception Alley was a trial for anyone, even grown witches and wizards with proper licensing. Wand permits were still a requirement in several states, though New York and California both championed a permit-free America (and had yet to find significant success).

After the Sorting, all first years were brought to the Wand Room, where the walls were lined in shelves stuffed with wand boxes, some new with their stickers shiny, and others old and infused with dust.

As opposed to having exclusive titles like prefect or head boy and head girl, Ilvermorny professors would assign students of merit unique jobs and duties that would publicly acknowledge them as responsible and successful sources of pride for their Houses. Among these jobs was wandseeking, where elder students in their sixth or seventh years helped first years find their wands. They stood as representatives of their Houses, but they helped any student from any House, bringing them into private adjacent rooms where the likelihood of harm to anyone was minimalized.

Among the students with this privilege was Alexandra Danvers.

It was her first year as a wandseeker, and instead of rushing to help the first tiny new student to approach her, she kept to the back of the room where the double-doors lead to the mess hall. She’d been asked by Lucy, a friend and fellow acolyte of the Horned Serpent, to hang back.

“ _You take the new girl.”_

Alex wasn’t sure if Lucy was motivated by jealousy—her seventh year boyfriend, James Olsen, was a wandseeker from House Thunderbird—but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t bothered by the fact that she’d miss out on handing eleven year olds weapons far more dangerous than a No-Maj handgun. Her friends could have their shoes melted and their hair turned green; she’d heard enough horror stories to be grateful.

First years were shepherded into the adjacent rooms one-by-one. Those who had made fast friends would wait in front of each other’s doors and switch out, and most every student waiting would clutch at their robes or someone else’s, petrified. More Yes-Majs had been accepted then witches and wizards of pre-existing magical families that year, and it showed.

The sun wasn’t striking the wand room’s stained glass windows, and Alex wasn’t fond of the darkness. With a flick of her wrist her wand—Red Oak, ten and a half inches, rigid with a dragon heartstring core—shot from its holster and she waved it once to light the candelabra that hung from the ceiling.

With time Lucy signaled to Alex to take Kara into one of the rooms. The girl followed silently, but her swallow was audible when Alex closed the door, locking them inside together.

‘ _Two strangers in a wand closet. There’s a joke in there somewhere.’_

“Uh, hi.” Alex curled her fingers into a fist to avoid a dorky wave. “I’m Alex. Alex Danvers. Horned Serpent. Sixth year.”

The girl nodded. “Kara.”

“So Kara…” Alex turned, shuffling through stacks of boxes. “Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Kara cleared her throat before speaking. “I… I come from a-a village, very far from here. America is still new to me.”

“Any talents? Hobbies?”

“I love to paint. Growing up I would spend most of my days flying on my pegasus.”

‘ _Cool.’_

“So art, flying… anything a bit more academic? Any affinities?”

“I’ve been told I’ve a knack for charms. A bond with creatures.”

‘ _Chestnut maybe, but none of these feel right.’_

“Do you come from a magical family?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you have any questions about the discovery process?”

“No ma’am.”

Once upon a time, professors were the only wandseekers at Ilvermorny, but they had long since taken a step back. To aid their students, they sorted the wands based on stereotypes and the advice of wandmakers from the Americas, Europe and beyond. Some shelves, Alex knew, held wands best suited for the sweet-mannered, others the ill-mannered, some the brave and a collection for the cowardly. Specifics were often lost on first years, but she had been instructed to select some for the duellists, some for the potioneers, the astrologists, the herbologists, the beast tamers and more. “ _Pick a bit of everything,_ ” Headmaster Aquaberry had encouraged, “ _The future is unknown._ ”

Alex pulled several wands from the sweet-mannered shelves, a handful from the brave, and a stack from the sections that contained a mix for the shy and those with an affinity for charms. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to go through all of them, but some students took longer than others—and Kara was more of a person than the eleven year olds; she was more multi-faceted, more set in her bones. It would make the wand more specialized—a pickier discovery.

“What are you?” Alex asked, sorting through her selection. They would alternate between the sweet-mannered and the shy first. “Pureblood, halfblood, whatever?”

“I think I constitute a pureblood, but I’m not sure. Where I’m from there were never really classifications like you have here in America.”

“Trust me,” Alex said dryly, a familiar irritation pulsing in her temples, “It’s like this everywhere.”

One of the other ramifications of Rappaport’s Law was the deep, painful and often violent divide between wizarding and No-Maj kind. Her own parents had to fight to be married, her pureblood mother facing jail time and the loss of her wand in her determination to marry her No-Maj father. It left Alex in a peculiar place, and it didn’t help that her heritage was common knowledge. Gabadan Coral, the history professor and otherwise internationally recognized historian, called her a true halfblood—or at least he did before she dropped his class.

Everyone was so caught up in bloodlines. She shook her head. She shouldn’t have been like that with Kara.

“It’s nothing. Come on. Give this one a go.” Kara grasped the wand carefully, as if she were afraid to snap it in two. “English Oak. Ten inches. Pretty rigid, which might—”

Kara waved the wand once, and a cloud of foul-smelling black smoke erupted from the tip. Alex coughed once, nearly wretching before she clamped a hand over her mouth and waved her own wand, casting the smoke out of the thin, glassless windows that stood between shelves.

“Okay, not that one.”

They tried another. Cherry wood. Swishy. It erupted in angry red sparks almost instantly.

“Nope nope nope.”

They tried another. Red Oak. It slammed Kara into the wall with a gust of air that left Alex unharmed.

“ _Morrigan!_ Are you alright?!”

Another. Ebony. Unicorn hair core. Alex had been given the same wand six years previously—she remembered how it left a faint burn on her palm. With Kara, it gave her a brutal zap, and she dropped it with a yelp.

“That wand’s an ass. I shouldn’t have even tried.”

Again and again they went through wands, until Kara had fallen and been shoved too much, and they’d both collapsed on the floor.

“This process is really brutal.”

“It’s not supposed to be.” Alex sighed, tired and sweating. Something about wandseeking made all of the representatives sweat and lose their breath. It was like a sport—except more terrifying than exhilarating. “The purple hair was probably the worst.”

“Not the fire?”

Alex touched her brows. They’d nearly been singed off by the second Red Oak wand they’d tried. Maybe the stereotype about wizards with Red Oak wands was true, except it was the wand with the temper, not the wizard.

Even still, she wanted to smile at memory. Kara had tried to grab at the flames with her fist to keep them from reaching her.

“There’s a girl, Lena, who could probably charm me up some fake brows if I needed them once she gets here. Hair color is really hard to change back though, especially with accidental magic—we call it sticky magic here in the States.”

Kara nodded, her small smile both apologetic and amused. She had only laughed earlier after she had changed Alex’s hair back to its original dark auburn.

 _‘It has to be one of the sweet-mannered wands,’_ Alex thought, eyes surveying the open wand boxes that littered the floor. They had gone through dozens, and the celebration lunch had to be over by now.

“Your pegasus, is he really important to you?”

“Comet is—was—my only friend.” Kara shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest. “He’s family, really.”

A small pile of wands, with unique cores from old wandmakers, was sequestered away on a high shelf in the main room. The Headmaster had gone over each of them carefully several days ago with the wandseekers.

“ _These wands may not go to the most brilliant witches and wizards, but they may be for those that are the hardest to place. They are a last resort._ ”

Alex remembered one in particular. “ _I find that this wand would go best with someone loyal and sweet. The unicorn hair at its core is from Grey Macha, a beautiful steed reared in Ireland some seven hundred years ago. This is an old wand, best for an old soul.”_

When she looked into Kara’s eyes, Alex saw that old soul Aquaberry had been going on about.

Also, she was desperate.

And they were both really hungry.

“Come on.” She opened to the door to their little room. “I’ve got a wand that I think might work.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
